Anchor of His Hope
by Jevvica
Summary: "The regiment is my home. You are my family, all that I have in this world. It does not matter to me why you were spared, only that you were." Related to "The Good Soldier", both Aramis' and Porthos' view points.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: "The regiment is my home. You are my family, all that I have in this world. It does not matter to me why you were spared, only that you were."

Author's Notes: Related to Episode 1x4, "The Good Soldier". I am so obsessed with this show.

I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

* * *

As Aramis stepped into the arcade and out of the downpour, a large form emerged from the shadows. He would know that figure anywhere.

"I am sorry for your friend." Aramis smiled softly at Porthos, knowing what it cost him to say it. The tall musketeer had no love for Marsac. It was more than the label of coward and deserter. Porthos felt that Marsac had failed Aramis somehow. He never said as much, but Aramis knew.

"He was my friend," agreed Aramis softly. "And I killed him."

"He gave you no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"No. There isn't," said Porthos gruffly. "Not always. Even if there is, it doesn't mean it's any easier." Aramis watched the falling rain and said nothing. It had been raining for days.

He was cold.

"You are my family. All that I have in this world." The sound of Porthos' voice startled him. For a moment, he was five years in the past, to the first time Porthos had uttered those words.

***3M3M3M3M***

It was cold. Marsac was gone, his uniform pauldron discarded.

There was shouting and movement, sharp and yet muffled.

It didn't matter. Time was nothing.

He was cold.

There was a murmur, soft and deep and it was warm. Warmer than anything else he could recall.

All he could remember was cold.

He dreamt of a blue woods, draped in snow and drenched in red.

When the murmur coalesced into words and held him like an anchor, Aramis opened his eyes. He knew that voice.

"...and that new recruit? The good swordsman? Drinks like a fish, but he isn't merry about it. He's doin' it all wrong, if you ask me." Aramis was in a bed, beneath a roof he didn't recognize.

"Porthos." The curly head shot up, dark eyes finding his instantly.

"Aramis?" Porthos' cheeks shone and it took Aramis a moment to realize why. He reached with a weak hand to wipe away the tears.

"What troubles you?" The big man let out a choked laugh.

"I found you in a god-forsaken forest in Savoy, nearly frozen, mostly dead and you ask what troubles me."

Savoy.

Marsac.

Dead musketeers.

Cold.

"No, Aramis, stop it." He focused on Porthos' face. He looked exhausted, more tired than he could ever remember seeing his friend. "It has been days. You were here, but not. You fell into some place in your mind, away from me."

"They're all dead. Slaughtered in their sleep. Why not me?" whispered Aramis. "Why do I yet live when so many do not?"

"I don't know and I don't care," snapped Porthos. He growled, shoving his fingers through his short curls before he visibly calmed himself and looked at Aramis.

"I am an orphan. My mother died when I was five. You know where I come from. I have no one else." He took Aramis' hand in his. "The regiment is my home. You are my family, all that I have in this world. It does not matter to me why you were spared, only that you were. And I am not alone."

"Never," breathed Aramis, surprising himself. He squeezed Porthos' hand fiercely.

"We will get their justice, I promise it. Do not cast your mind back to that place." Porthos was often affectionate, but rarely soft. And yet there was something near pleading in his voice as he peered into Aramis' face.

"I am here, Porthos." He released his friend's hand to reach up and smooth a thumb over Porthos' cheek, real and alive. "I am here with you."

And Aramis realized he was warm.

***3M3M3M3M***

"You are my family. All that I have in this world."

Aramis turned from the rain and strode to Porthos, putting his hands on his shoulders, squeezing firmly. Strong, solid Porthos, anchor of his hope. Aramis searched his dark eyes, seeing the questions Porthos had. The worry that some vital part of Aramis was trapped in that frigid forest, five years dead.

"I am with you, Porthos."

Porthos' eyes filled before he blinked and playfully shook Aramis, hooking a warm arm around his shoulders, ushering him away from the burial ground.

"O'course you are, Aramis. As always."


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: "The regiment is my home. You are my family, all that I have in this world. It does not matter to me why you were spared, only that you were."

This is Porthos' view point.

Author's Notes: Related to Episode 1x4, "The Good Soldier". I am so obsessed with this show.

I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

* * *

He watched Aramis thrust the sword into the muddy earth and walk toward his hiding spot. As soon as Aramis was out of the rain, Porthos stepped forward.

"I am sorry for your friend."

He hated saying it. Hated that it needed to be said. Damn Marsac for stirring this up again. Damn him for dying as he did and damn him for the look in Aramis' eyes.

Aramis smiled at him sadly, but it vanished quickly.

"He was my friend and I killed him."

"He gave you no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"No. There isn't," insisted Porthos. "Not always. Even if there is, it doesn't mean it's any easier."

Aramis stared out at the falling rain, but it wasn't rain he was seeing. Porthos would not do this again. He would not let Aramis submerge into memories of a killing field in Savoy. He watched Aramis tremble slightly, like he was cold.

"You are my family. All that I have in this world," stated Porthos. He willed Aramis to remember where those words came from.

***3M3M3M3M***

Aramis was dead. Porthos was sure of it the second he saw him, slumped against a tree. Dried blood black in his hair, tangled about his pale, still face. Porthos didn't remember screaming, but he must have, his throat burned and burned and Aramis was stiff in his arms.

A soft puff of breath against his neck, warm in that freezing hell hole, was the only indication that he'd been mistaken.

Days later, it was still all he had.

When Aramis awoke, he wasn't truly present. He did as Porthos asked, but with no recognition. No sign that he knew him. That he knew anyone.

So he slept and slept and dreamt, crying out in his sleep. He called for Marsac, whose body they'd not found. He shouted for Porthos, but he didn't understand that Porthos already held him.

There was nothing to be done. And Porthos was terrible at doing nothing. So he talked. Told Aramis all he had missed, all the daily goings and comings of the barracks. He spoke of the fine new horses Treville had just purchased. He talked about the new recruits. The one with the scarred lip and blank face had caught his eyes.

"Got bored, waitin' on you to come back. This was before I knew I had to come save you and all. Went out with some of the boys and that new recruit? The good swordsman? Drinks like a fish, but he isn't merry about it. He's doin' it all wrong, if you ask me."

"Porthos." The voice startled him more than any gunshot. The dark eyes that he'd nearly despaired of knowing him again were open, studying him closely.

"Aramis?" His hand came up to touch Porthos' cheeks. Porthos was shocked to feel the moisture there, he didn't realize he'd been crying.

"What troubles you?" asked Aramis softly, his brow furrowing. Porthos could not decide whether to laugh or sob.

"I found you in a god-forsaken forest in Savoy, nearly frozen, mostly dead and you ask what troubles me."

At the mention of Savoy, the light begins to leave Aramis. He can see it happening, the reminder leeching the warmth and awareness from him.

"No, Aramis, stop it," he commanded, desperate to keep Aramis in the here and now. "It has been days. You were here, but not. You fell into some place in your mind, away from me." Aramis looked at him, eyes roaming his face. He looked worried and then he just looked weary.

"They're all dead. Slaughtered in their sleep. Why not me? Why do I yet live when so many do not?" whispered Aramis brokenly.

"I don't know and I don't care!" Everything in him wanted to pace, to prowl and to destroy the men who had done this. Instead, he growled and ran his hands through his hair. He forced himself still and looked at Aramis.

"I am an orphan. My mother died when I was five. You know where I come from. I have no one else." He took Aramis' hand in his, glad to feel the pulse beneath his fingers. "The regiment is my home. You are my family, all that I have in this world. It does not matter to me why you were spared, only that you were. And I am not alone."

"Never," vowed Aramis. Porthos felt his heart swell at the passion he saw in Aramis. His friend was still here. Still here to anchor him. When Aramis squeezed Porthos' hand, he swore he would do whatever he must to protect his friend. Even from himself.

"We will get their justice, I promise it. Do not cast your mind back to that place," entreated Porthos.

"I am here, Porthos." Aramis reached up and ran his thumb along Porthos' cheekbone. "I am here with you."

Aramis' touch was warm.

***3M3M3M3M***

Porthos wanted nothing more than to banish that haunted look from his friend's eyes.

"You are my family. All that I have in this world."

Aramis turned his back on the storm and walked to him, bringing his hands to rest on his shoulders. Porthos looked down, meeting Aramis' searching gaze.

"I am with you, Porthos," said Aramis softly, meaningfully.

Porthos blinked against the burning in his eyes and pulled Aramis close, leading him away from Marsac, betrayal, and mourning.

"O'course you are, Aramis. As always."


End file.
